no return address

I am perishable and that’s the best
part
as the snail crawls slowly beneath
the leaf,
as the lady in the cafe
laughs a truly ugly laugh,
as France burns in a purple
twilight
I am perishable
and good for that
as the horse kicks a slat out of the
north barn,
as we hurry toward our minor
paradise,
I am perishable enough
enough.
place the shoes beneath the
bed
side by side,
the dog howls winter,
the last frog puffs and
jumps.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1991
Source
Original manuscript